


What Do You Want?

by JET_Playin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Draco Malfoy, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Confident Harry, Draco Malfoy Being a Brat, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, HP: EWE, Harry wants him, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, anyway, grumpy barista
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 13:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: Draco is a barista... What more is there?





	What Do You Want?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unadulteratedstorycollector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/gifts).



> Hi hi! This is something I've been knocking around since the reveals of the career fair, 2017. It's a seasoned trope with a bit of a twist :p I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Many thanks to KaterineBlack for the speedy beta, and unadulteratedstorycollector for the wonderful idea!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his affiliates :)

Blueberry, chocolate, or bran…? Well, blueberry or chocolate. Who eats bran muffins by choice? 

 _People who care about their physical health_ , the Hermione voice of his conscience reminded him. Sometimes, he wondered if she used a spell to do that, since Ron said it was the same for him. Shaking his head, Harry pushed the voice, and related thoughts, away. If choosing not eat bran muffins was irresponsible, so be it. He'd rather enjoy life. 

But, blueberry or chocolate? 

Luckily, he had time. The queue was moving slowly, every customer shifting from foot to foot, trudging forward a half-step at a time. At the counter, a posh voice drawled short, simple responses to every order. Some customers were still offended by this barista’s attitude, but only the first-timers. All of the regular customers knew what to expect when Draco Malfoy was behind the counter. 

Not so long ago, Harry had been a first-timer. He'd been having a shit morning. Two calls from potential clients and a disgruntled customer who claimed the wards weren't letting his crup come and go when he had to wee. Harry was almost certain the bloke just wanted another look at him; he spent the entire time Harry worked to set the wards just watching him. 

When he shuffled into the café, that morning, he hadn't expected the prickly bastard to be there, but found himself pleasantly surprised… 

_“What do you want?” the barista ground out, suggesting that it wasn't the first time he'd asked. He stood behind the counter, his shoulders stiff, and the black apron wrapped tightly around his chest and hips was smeared with something unidentifiable. A name tag, pinned to the apron, read “Miles.” His head jerked in a fruitless attempt to flip the limp strands of pale hair from where they obscured narrowed grey eyes._

_“Malfoy?” Harry blinked, then shook himself. This was good, his life needed a little excitement. And, oddly enough, nothing seemed quite as exciting as the prospect of sparring with Draco Malfoy. “Fancy that,” he grinned, leaning on the counter._

_Malfoy snarled, but stood his ground. “Order something, Potter, or leave.”_

_The grin widened. “I’m doing well, thanks. How have you been, Malfoy?” He looked like he’d been well, himself, Harry noted. His face had filled out, as well as his body, since the war. He no longer looked half-starved and haunted, simply annoyed. But Harry could deal with annoyed, he even looked forward to it, if that spark in Malfoy’s eyes was any indication of the fire to come._

_“Today, Potter,” he growled, tapping his fingers on the counter, impatiently._

_“Yeah, well, I tried the auror bit. Didn’t work out for me.” Harry replied, as if he’d been asked. “What about you, though? A barista? I see you’re coming up, in the world.”_

_The spark shifted, becoming a twinkle, and Malfoy smirked. “By my estimation, it’s better than dealing in security. When I give you the wrong drink, it’s unlikely to kill you.”_

_Surprised, Harry let out a bark of laughter. “I suppose that’s true. Are you planning on giving me the wrong drink?”_

_“Absolutely.”_

_Still chuckling, Harry shook his head. “Well, then I’ll have a double espresso and a peanut butter biscuit.”_

_“Excellent choice, sir,” he drawled, rolling his eyes. “Will that be all?”_

_“Yes.” He tried to hide his grin when Malfoy punched the lever that sent the money drawer crashing open with a subdued ding. “Seriously, though, what led to barista?” he asked._

_“It’s always been a dream of mine, Potter. Serving strangers, wearing polyester.” He held out a hand, expectantly, and Harry dropped a couple of galleons into it, then rocked back on his heels to wait for him to count out change. Only, Malfoy wasn't counting change… He slammed the drawer shut, after tossing in the coins, then turned and began fiddling with the gadgets and jars behind the counter._

_“Er, Malfoy?” Harry called, leaning forward to see him clearly. “You forgot my change.”_

_Silence._

_“Oi, Malfoy!”_

_“Here you are, now leave.”_

_Accepting the paper cup Malfoy passed him, Harry frowned. “This is a double espresso?” he asked._

_“How should I know?” he asked, glare firmly in place._

_“You made it,” Harry laughed. “And what about my biscuit?”_

_Malfoy let out an exasperated sigh, then turned to retrieve the biscuit, chocolate chip, and plopped it onto the counter, unceremoniously. “Anything else?”_

_A smile tugged at the corners of Harry's mouth. “My change?”_

_One pale brow winged up behind the disheveled hair, and Malfoy flicked his eyes to the little slate propped up beside the register. Harry followed his gaze to the bold, cheerful lettering._ Tips are appreciated _, it read._

_“But not compulsory,” he shot back._

_With a cold glare in his direction, Malfoy drew his wand and, without taking his eyes from Harry, aimed a spell that added angry, slashing text below the first message._ Compulsory idiot fee for all scar headed prats. 

_Harry rolled his eyes. “What if I said I'd like to speak with your supervisor.”_

_“He's out,” Malfoy said, examining his nails with a bored expression. When Harry's eyes narrowed, he sighed. “He can't be arsed. Look, you're holding up the queue, Potter. Take your coffee, and your dessert, and kindly fuck off.”_

_Harry glanced around; there wasn't anyone else waiting. Smirking, he propped a hip against the counter, removed the lid from his paper cup, and took a long sip. Vanilla and honey. It was odd, but not bad, so he took another sip, sliding his eyes to Malfoy’s._

_“It's acceptable,” he grinned, plucking up the biscuit. He shoved it into his mouth and turned, lifting one hand in a careless wave, and strode through the door._  

So, of course, it didn't matter what he ordered; Draco wouldn't give it to him, anyway. 

Ahead of him, Fremont - one of the surprising number of Draco's regular customers - stepped up to the counter, his worn oilskin falling heavily over his thin frame. And Draco greeted him as he always did; with an impatient “what do you want, today, Fremont?”

“Oh, the usual,” Fremont chuckled. His thin face seemed to crack when he smiled fondly. Harry watched as something softened in those ice chip eyes and the corner of Draco's thin-lipped mouth twitched, as if fighting a smile. 

Harry was fucked. He knew it, had done for some time. That didn't stop the painful clenching in his chest from dragging a quiet gasp from him. 

“Goblin piss and week old shite,” Draco answered with a curt nod, and Harry ducked his head as he mouthed the familiar words along with him. “Coming right up.”

Fremont laughed, loud and delighted, his head thrown back and his thin shoulders shaking with the force of it. When Draco handed him the steaming mug and a plate with a large square of some sort of pastry, moments later, he turned and made his way to his usual table near the frosted door, still chuckling. 

“Oh, fuck, you're back?” that posh voice drawled, drawing Harry's attention back to the counter. 

“Every day, darlin’,” he assured, winking as Draco rolled his eyes. 

“What do you want?” he said, as if it wasn't the first time he'd asked. It wasn't, really. He asked every day. And, every day, since that first, Harry replied-

 “A double espresso and a peanut butter biscuit.”

He rolled his eyes, again, and reached for a chocolate muffin, then shoved it into Harry's hand and turned to prepare his coffee. Harry leaned forward, propping his elbows on the counter to watch as he worked. Steaming milk, grinding coffee beans, stirring at the cauldron bubbling a thick brown blend that expelled puffs of fragrant steam as he ladled a measure of its contents into a large paper cup. 

His hair, already a flyaway mess, was pulled into a loose tail that fell halfway down his back, lying almost neatly between his shoulder blades. The knot of his apron, at his waist, framed the puffed fabric of his shirt under the edge of a dark waistcoat that hugged his sides, accentuated the gentle swell of his arse, encased in dark denim. His broad shoulders stayed perfectly squared, years of etiquette lessons dictating his every move. 

“Here you are, Potter. Now leave,” Draco ordered, handing over the paper cup. 

Taking it, Harry lifted the lid and inhaled deeply. Ginger and toffee. “Have dinner with me,” he said, instead, as the bell at the door signaled a new customer. 

“Merlin, why on earth would I do that?” Draco asked, his eyes comically wide. 

“Do what?” Pansy said, from behind Harry. 

He turned to find her removing her cloak, her neat bob swaying with each practiced sway of her body. She knew exactly what to do with the assets granted her by birth and, were Harry not perpetually enthralled by another snake in this pit, he might try his luck with her. 

“Have dinner with me,” Harry repeated, bending to kiss the cheek she offered by way of greeting. 

“Oh. Well, I suppose. I'll have to check my schedule, but-” 

“He wasn't inviting you, you silly-” 

“Sure I was,” Harry interrupted. “You said no, and I still need to eat.” Pansy smirked and Harry shot her a wink over his coffee. 

She shook out her cloak, folded it over one arm. “Well, what do you know? Looks like I can squeeze you in, tonight.”

Harry tried to confine the wince to his face, then schooled his expression so he could turn to gauge Draco's reaction. Then froze. 

He was fuming. He crossed his arms over his chest, his pale eyes dark, thunderous, under furrowed brows. The wisps of hair flying around his face took on the appearance of flames, whipped around by a tempestuous wind, and the grim set of his jaw promised swift vengeance. 

His eyes followed Pansy as she rounded the counter, hanging her cloak on the rack next to his and retrieving her apron. Harry, though, couldn't take his eyes from Draco. Yes, fucked was definitely the appropriate description for Harry's state. 

“Don't look at me like that, Draco,” Pansy was saying as she tied her apron. “What else should I do when a fit bloke invites me to dinner?”

“Perhaps you could have the dignity to refuse a second-hand invitation?” Draco snapped. He reached behind himself to untie his own apron, the name tag glinting as he whipped it over his head. 

“And perhaps you could stop being a twat long enough to avoid a second-hand invitation being issued,” Pansy countered, affecting a bored tone as she reached below the counter for the necessary forms to record their shift change. 

Harry chuckled, setting his cup on the counter and lounging against it to watch. Watching the two of them bicker was nearly as much fun as sparring with Draco, himself. But he needed an answer before he took matters into his own hands. He turned to face Draco as he came around the counter. 

“It's okay, Draco,” he assured, grinning when his eyes darkened further. “I'll have dinner with Pansy, since you aren't interested. I'd better be off, now. Rich fucks to protect, and all.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco snarled when he reached Harry's side. Lightning quick, he snaked a hand around Harry's neck and yanked him down to crash their lips together. 

Shocked, Harry was barely able to open his mouth before that sharp tongue worked its way inside, flooding him with the flavour of smooth, dark roast coffee and rich cream while the fresh scent of lemon, the dark musk of man, assailed his senses. By the time he thought to lift his hands to slim hips, it was over, Draco ripping his mouth away and tugging ruthlessly at the hair on the back of Harry's neck. 

“You aren't clever, Potter,” he sneered. “Pick me up at seven.”

Still reeling, Harry watched him sail toward the back of the café and the door leading to his flat above, his hips swinging in a way that drew the eye to his arse and suggested he wasn't unaffected by the heat he wielded like a double edged blade. Shifting his gaze as Draco disappeared, he found Pansy smirking at him. 

“Don't you have work to do, Potter?” she asked. 

Harry grinned, a bubble of light rising in his chest. He retrieved his coffee and muffin, sent her a little salute, and made his way out of the café. He did have work to do, and a date to plan. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Remember, kudos are love and comments validate my existence ❤️


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